


Let's Try This Again

by volti



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Engagement, F/F, Grocery Shopping, Marriage Proposal, Nonbinary Character, P5 Wedding Zine, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 05:09:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20886638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/volti/pseuds/volti
Summary: Makoto's spent a long time overthinking and overplanning for this—it's a proposal, after all. Why wouldn't you overthink and overplan something that has to go so perfectly to be so memorable?The answer is simple when things don't go quite as intended.





	Let's Try This Again

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the Persona 5 LGBTQ+ Wedding Zine a while back, and we finally got permission to post our pieces ;u;!!!! I hope you enjoy this, because I had so much fun writing MakoAnn for the first time even though it's,,, it's so precious,,,,

**** Makoto is overthinking this. And if  _ they _ think they’re overthinking this, then they’re  _ definitely _ overthinking this. And everyone must realize it except for Ann.

But it’s practically inconceivable to them not to. How do you  _ not _ overthink what could quite possibly be the most important question you could ever ask someone? How do you not do everything in your power to ensure that what could very well be the second most important moment of your life is nothing short of perfect? They’ve heard of people going out of their way to plan such extravagant proposals—videos with romantic music and index cards, public displays with candles and roses and rings hidden in desserts, perfect locales with the sunset casting just the right glow as those four words come tumbling out.

They’ve heard of them, by which they mean, they’ve  _ read _ about them. Six years out of high school—six years in a committed, intimate relationship that they wouldn’t trade for anything, perhaps not even for their studies at the police academy—and their heart still finds more solace and help in books instead of in people.

Well.

People who aren’t Ann. Or their friends.

Makoto’s been thinking about how to ask for months, and they’ve kept a ring stowed away in their desk drawer at work for even longer. Mostly because they know Ann well enough to know that she’d probably poke through their drawers to steal a pair of socks or a sleep shirt. They take out the little red velvet box from time to time, in between reports, and turn it over and over in their hand, sometimes popping it open to study the ruby and the simple lotus flower pattern. And they never knows what to say about it, even as they’re holding it. They’ve never quite figured out how to tell Ann, in so many beautiful words, because all those beautiful words escape them as soon as Ann meets their eyes or lips.

Maybe it’s just that Ann is too good for human articulation in the first place. They’ve both said plenty to each other without speaking before.

In the end, for all their studying, and revising, and planning, and  _ re _ planning, Makoto only knows two things. The first is that they want to spend the rest of their life with Ann Takamaki. And the second is, however they end up asking, it has to be Perfect, with a capital P. It wouldn’t be right to give Ann anything less. And they wouldn’t be themself if they didn’t strive for anything less besides.

It’s on an afternoon when they’re thinking about it too deeply in their office at the police headquarters downtown, with the box in their hand and all the words in their heart and no right way of stringing them together in their head, that there’s a knock at their door. Startled, they pocket the box, straighten their papers to make it look like they’ve been at least some semblance of productive, and call, “Come in.”

The door creaks open, and there’s Ann, fresh off a shoot with her sunglasses perched on her head and a flannel shirt tied around her waist. She says she’s been doing it more often lately because she’s tired of being asked about boyfriends and marriage and maybe somebody will get the hint, but it doesn’t change the fact that she could wear… well…  _ anything _ , and still look good. She smiles, warm and bright, and sidles up to the desk to greet Makoto with a kiss. “You’ve got that look on your face,” she says.

“What look?”

“The Imposter Syndrome Look.” Ann says it like there should be a trademark symbol in her voice, like she should be a TV personality instead of a model. “It’s the same one you got when you were promoted. And when you stayed up until 3A.M. because you weren’t sure if growing out your hair meant you were betraying your gender identity.”

Makoto fingers the ends of their hair, a bob cut that now reaches the middle of their neck, and purses their lips. “I didn’t stay up that late. And it’s not like I ever stop thinking about it. It’s always… there. In my brain.”

“Well,” Ann says, with her hands on her hips and her legs between Makoto’s. “You told me back in college that you don’t really feel like you’re a guy.”

“Right.”

“And that you don’t really feel like a girl, either.”

Makoto hesitates, with a soft but sharp breath, and admits it to the quiet hum of their now sleeping laptop. “That’s… also true.”

Ann reaches for their hands and laces their fingers together, bumps her forehead to theirs, too. “Then neither is your hair. Not boyish, not girly. It’s yours. So whatever you are, it is, too. And you’re lovely.” She smiles. “And you’re also mine, so I guess you and your brain are just gonna have to deal with me validating you all the time.”

“Tragic.” Makoto smiles back, and closes their eyes. It’s always in these little moments that they’re sure of most things. Including the fact that Ann deserves all the things she wouldn’t admit to wanting out loud. And that one day she’ll get everything, without having to ask for it. “Thank you.”

“Always. Now, what do you say I bust you out of here and we go on our favorite date?”

Makoto’s brow furrows. “Motorcycle ride?”

Ann grins, and flips her shades down. “Grocery shopping.”

———

Ann’s not wrong; it  _ is _ one of their favorite dates. Partly because the dinner-and-a-movie deal became a hassle once Ann landed her first big magazine cover and had all kinds of people slinking around street corners, and Ann told them over dessert that she valued their privacy more than a night on the town. And partly because Makoto, like with books and legal research, found solace in routine and could practically feel all the tangled, anxious coils in their mind unwinding once they began to tick off items on their To Do list. And partly because, after a couple of years of living together and sharing a bed, they had both learned that they could make anything special if they tried.

There’s also a strange calm to roaming the aisles of the store, putting meals together in their minds just based on what they see as they go by. Sometimes—mostly when Makoto takes the lead—they know exactly what they want to make, and exactly how they want to make it, and those are the days when all the fun is in cooking together instead. And sometimes—mostly when Ann weaves through the store a little more leisurely than her usual clipped model walk—the ingredients come together on their own. Which wasn’t always the best solution, in their first years of making dinner for one another, but by the time they moved in together, there was more of a system to it.

There’s more of a system to them, Makoto thinks. Organized chaos, which just might be how all relationships are supposed to be.

It’s definitely how theirs is supposed to be.

“I know that look,” Ann says. She’s examining a package from the meat case for its expiration date. “That’s the look you get when you really wish we’d gone riding instead, but you’re doing this because it’s what I want.”

“Stop reading me,” Makoto quips back, and busies themself with a similar task. “We can go riding any other time. Tell me about Yusuke and Akira. Didn’t you see them for breakfast this morning?”

“It was  _ brunch _ ,” Ann corrects her, and only she can make a word like  _ brunch _ sound casual and not like something mothers do when their schedules align like the stars. “And yes, I did. Just got back from their honeymoon a couple days ago. I guess they went back to Hawaii for a while.” She sighs, dreamily. Maybe they should consider adding that to their itinerary someday.

“Honeymoon?” Makoto purses their lips. “But they got married months back.”

“I guess they wanted to save up until they had enough money, and a convenient time to go.” Ann smiles, returns the package, and settles on some boneless chicken. “Honestly, it sounds like something you’d do.”

Makoto nearly drops their package.

“What?” Ann’s brow knits together in the middle. “Did I say something weird?”

“No, no.” Perhaps Makoto answers too fast, but they can at least try playing it off. “I suppose I’ve rubbed off on people more than I thought.”

“I’m not gonna dignify that with an answer,” Ann says, pushing the cart into the last aisle of the store, “because we’re in a family-friendly establishment.”

“I can already hear Haru clutching her pearls,” Makoto deadpans, “and I’m not even sure if they’re literal or figurative.”

“Literal. Definitely literal.” Ann laughs behind a manicured hand, and Makoto’s heard it for years, but it still sounds as fresh and as musical as the first time around. Almost as much as the way Ann falls into the music blaring over the loudspeaker, humming to herself in between quick questions of  _ Do we need this tonight? _ or  _ Can we save this for another time? _ or even  _ Do you want to do spicy? _ , the last of which leaves Ann grinning and Makoto looking anywhere but at her.

“Love,” Ann says to get Makoto’s attention; it’s one of the only pet names they’re comfortable with, nice and neutral. Nice and them. “Can you grab that sack of rice on the bottom shelf? The five kilo one. You’ve got better legs for it.”

They’re already beginning to crouch down on a knee, but they give her a look all the same. “Are you flirting with me via groceries?”

“We’re on a date, aren’t we?” Ann starts to say with her usual cheeky grin, but then her expression fades into something wide-eyed and otherwise indescribable. It’s not exactly horrified, but it’s not just confused. Maybe dumbstruck is the word for it, but Makoto would never use anything like “dumb” to describe her.

“What?” Makoto asks, still holding the sack in their arms. “What is it?”

“No,” Ann says, and points with a shaky finger. “What is  _ that _ ?”’

Makoto has to look backwards, and then down, and down, until their gaze reaches the floor.

No, not the floor.

The velvet box on it.

The one that fell out of their pocket.

And now they’re pretty sure their expression matches hers. This not-horrified, not-confused, not-dumb, all-the-color-gone-from-their-face thing that leaves them tongue-tied for the first time since, arguably, Ann’s, high school graduation.

“What  _ is _ it?” Ann says again, more a hiss than anything, with all the knowing of  _ exactly _ what it is. Neither of them has moved.

“I,” Makoto starts, and finally hefts the damn sack of rice into an unceremonious heap under the shopping cart. And then they fumble for the box, and don’t know what to do except open it. “It’s. Um. It’s this.”

Ann gawks down at them for more moments than either of them can count, all pink lipstick and blowout blonde curls and glowing skin. Slowly, she raises a hand to cover her mouth, and when she squints her eyelashes glint with tears under the fluorescent lights, and then…

And then she starts  _ laughing _ . Full-belly, doubled-over,  _ laughing _ . Like she might collapse at any moment.

And Makoto thinks it’s beautiful. And they start laughing, too, even as they’re wiping their eyes with the heel of their hand. “I really hope this is a yes,” they finally manage in between sniffles.

“It’s a yes,” Ann says, and drops down with them, and holds out her hand for them to slide the ring on. They both must look like fools, holding each other so tightly and teetering on their toes in a supermarket. But they’re deciding on falling, and dinner, and the rest of their lives.

And it’s perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/omnistruck) and a [Tumblr](http://voltisubito.tumblr.com); follow me there for more shenanigans! Feel free to leave comments and questions and stuff in my [Curious Cat](https://curiouscat.me/omnistruck) as well c: and kudos here, too!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you're having a lovely day <3


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